


Truly, He Hadn't

by seren_ccd



Category: Fire and Hemlock - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-16
Updated: 2008-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:35:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1641761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seren_ccd/pseuds/seren_ccd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas Lynn truly hadn't seen any of this coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truly, He Hadn't

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Celandine

 

 

Thomas Lynn had not truly intended on writing to the young girl he met inadvertently crashing the funeral. 

Truly, he hadn't. 

He had undoubtedly enjoyed her lively company and suspected that she may have, due to her innocence (or perhaps not, upon further reflection) managed to help him acquire some very nice paintings. 

Tom also feared what may happen if Laurel were to discover that Polly was not who she appeared to be.

It was only a diversion from the day's proceedings. 

But as he rode away on the train to London, he found himself writing a fantastical tale involving his new young hero-in-training and was disturbed to realise that he had arrived to London without even noticing. He hurried through the streets to his modest flat. Tom shook off his coat and tore the requisite tie away from his neck and quickly began to work once again on the letter that was slowly becoming an opus. 

It finally began to dawn on him as he drew the story to it's close, that he had just met a strong little girl who wanted to not only be a hero, but be called Hero, that Fate may be lending him a hand at long last. 

So he posted the letter and felt immensely guilty afterwards. 

Miserable sod. Idiot. Bastard, even, were some of the more tame monikers he applied to himself. 

However, he continued to write to her. 

**** 

The books. Yes. He is trying to tell her something. By this point, Tom really couldn't help himself. She is probably the only hope he has in this world. A world of his own making, he knows this much. 

And sometimes, just as he has come to terms with his ultimate fate and resigns himself to it, Tom finds himself inside a used bookstore buying a select book of fairy tales. ***

The incident with the horse shook him up more than he would ever admit. Tom knew he wasn't a brave man. He had a sort of weakness in him that Laurel found immediately and exploited. So when he realised that he had just tamed a wild horse, Tom began to suspect there was more to him than just the superficial. As he held Polly's hand and let her lead them away from the horse and the cars, for the first time he wanted to protect someone else and not just himself.

***

He finished reading her latest story. And put it down in disgust. Oh yes, disgust was better than the feeling of hopelessness that was threatening to creep into his heart. 

Tom looked it over again and wrote a quick one line note to her and posted it immediately. He walked back to his flat and as he was unlocking the door, he felt all of the disgust drain away and leave him with a sense of futility and guilt. 

She didn't understand and how on earth could he really explain it to her using words? Tom shook his head. 

It has to be original. It has to be real and hers. Hers alone. Polly cannot lose her individuality, Tom thought to himself as he practiced ferociously. He was stubborn in his originality, so she must be too. She cannot borrow, not even from Tolkien. 

Tom swiped the bow across the strings madly. 

It is the only way to defy her.

***

When she came to find him in Bristol, he actually had to sit on his hands to not scoop her up and take her with him somewhere. Anywhere. 

*** 

"Sentimental drivel" he wrote out harshly. He practically threw the postcard in the postbox. He remembered when he was filled with it. When Laurel's skin was smooth as silk and her eyes glittered. Her mouth was perfectly shaped and the way she made him feel... 

Tom had been very young when he met Laurel. He was already very musically talented, but lacked ambition and drive. He was happily playing in a small orchestra and then he met her. She was beautiful and elegant. One smile from her sent his stomach whirling and one touch aroused in him actual ardor, something he had always believed to belong in a Mills and Boone paperback that his mother had been so fond of. 

Several months of unfettered admiration and, he could admit it know, lust had seriously dulled his wits. If Laurel herself hadn't betrayed her cold unearthliness by snapping at a hapless waiter at a fashionable restaurant, Tom might have continued on blindly under her spell. But in that moment, he saw her for what she truly was. And was promptly disgusted with himself and then utterly terrified at his looming and inevitable end. 

The other reason is that he doesn't want Polly going into this with any illusions. The least amount of illusions the better. 

*** 

"I need you to write to Polly for me," he said to Sam. 

"Ooh, my turn!" the other musician said happily. 

"I want you to describe the human back to her. In as blunt, anatomical and disgusting terms as possible," Tom told him. 

Sam blinked. "Well, that's new. Okay." 

Tom then set about describing backs in their most awful and most honest detail. 

"This is making me rather sick you know," Sam said interrupting Tom's narrative.

"Good," Tom said. "Tell her that."

Sam shrugged and wrote it down. "Is this supposed to be a sort of lesson for her?"

"Yes, of sorts," Tom acknowledged.

The phrase 'She's only a child' was apparent in Sam's eyes and posture but he didn't voice it, which made Tom both grateful and chastened at the same time. 

Sam looked quite queasy at the end and when he sealed up the letter, he remarked, 

"You know Tom, I am one hundred percent behind you in whatever you choose to do. But, please, please don't have me do this again." 

Tom nodded and posted the letter himself. 

***

Tom was very proud of the Dumas Quartet. They had financed themselves completely and he relished the small sense of freedom that came with the financial independence. 

He still saw Laurel from time to time and Morton was always lurking about one corner or the other. And there were days, long, lonely days where the only comfort he found was with his music. His cello soothed a number of needs, but there was a definite limit to it's capabilities. Tom would find himself longing for the release and coolness her body had always provided.

Tom was still a young man and while he knew that Polly always considered him an old man, he had (he hated to acknowledge it) needs. 

Which was why he dated Mary Fields. And was pretty much the only reason.

Polly was never the only person to be exposed to his idiocy.

***

Tom had always felt a little sorry for Seb. The boy couldn't really help who his father was.

But the first time he saw Polly on Seb's arm was the first time Thomas Lynn wanted to truly punch someone. He literally wanted to feel the flesh and bones in his hand connect with the flesh and bones in Seb's face.

Then Polly did the unthinkable and forgot him and the only harm he wanted to cause then was to himself. 

*** 

And then he saw her on the train and she was magnificent in her blonde hair and her maturity and it came back to him. All of it. 

The physical wrench that accompanied Polly's forgetting about him that had left his body off-kilter for the last four years was wrenched back into himself as he kissed her desperately in Now Here for what he believed was the last time. 

***

And now it's over. They won. He is his own man and the thought both terrifies and excites him. 

Now Tom watches her come in the door to the flat and absently say hello to him as he sits practicing. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her kick off her shoes and go into the kitchen. She emerges a few minutes later with a cup of tea for him and for herself. He pretends to be totally focused on his cello, when they both know he is completely focused on her. She walks over to the sofa and settles in with one of her books. 

Dear God, he really is a miserable sod, because, if given the choice, he truly would not do anything differently. 

 


End file.
